For a moment, I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing—for more than one reason. First and foremost, I have no idea why Thad is feeling up that mannequin, but somehow even more absurd than this sight is the reality of him being here, in this lingerie shop, right now. After literal years, I finally work up the nerve to sneak into a lingerie store and there he is, standing three feet away from me. Probably here to buy lingerie for his sexy, supermodel-esque girlfriend, of whom there is no proof of existence, but who must exist nonetheless because she always does.
We stare at each other for a short eternity, as I run through all of the plausible scenarios to explain why I’m here that don’t include my own stunted, burgeoning sexuality: I’m here to buy a gift. A sexy gift for a friend—no, that’s too weird. I’ve wandered into the wrong store, maybe? Or I’ve been hired as a secret shopper.
Or maybe, just maybe, there’s nothing that strange about an adult woman buying herself underpants. I know this logically, but somehow it still feels tremendously embarrassing to be caught. Especially since I’m currently looking atredpanties, which everyone knows is the horniest color.
It’s not as embarrassing as feeling up a mannequin, though, so at least I still have the moral high ground.
Thad tries to step toward me, but seems to remember all at once about the mannequin and does his best to drop it. It seems to be hanging on to him by his coat, though, which might have been funny under any other circumstance. Instead, I watch stone-faced as he grows increasingly flustered trying to shake the mannequin off before he abruptly pulls off its arm with a loud pop and lets the rest of the mannequin drop to the ground with a heavy thud.
If I didn’t know better, I might think Thad was blushing. Actually, maybe I don’t know better, because I’m almost positive that’s a blush climbing up his neck. “I—” he starts to say, but I cut him off, stepping forward and reaching over his shoulder to detach the mannequin arm still dangling from the back of his coat. There’s no way I’m going to be able to have a conversation with him swinging that thing around like a tail.
In a matter of seconds, he’s free. I set the arm down carefully on a display stand before looking back at him—and I promptly swallow. Absorbed in the task, I hadn’t realized just how close I’ve moved to him. I’m gripping his forearm, my breasts pressed up against his bicep. Our faces areclose,so close that I feel the air sucked out of my lungs as his blue-gray eyes lock on to mine.
Thad clears his throat, brows knitted together gruffly under his baseball cap. “Is Dean in the back?”
I frown, matching his expression as I take a step back. “Is Dean in the back of what?”
He gives an irritated grunt. “Of the store.”
It takes a moment to process. “You think I’m meeting my brother in a lingerie store?” I ask him slowly, not quite believing I even have to answer such an accusation.
A look of dismay flashes through Thad’s eyes, but his jaw remains clenched tightly. It’s like he’s messed up, and he knows he messed up, but rather than admitting it, he has to double down. “No one would suspect it.”
“Because no one would have that sort of relationship with their brother, outside ofGame of Thrones.” The thought of having a discussion of any kind with Dean around sexy lingerie gives me the heebie-jeebies. I shudder and take another step back, not wanting any closeness between us to muddle my brain. “Dean is not here. Like I told you before, I have no idea where he is.” I fold my arms as a new idea strikes me. “But I guess this proves you’re still following me. I hope it’s been worth your time, stalking me while I watch Netflix and read in bed. Pretty wild stuff.”
His eyes flicker down to the red lacy panties still gripped in my hand, then back up to me. He clears his throat, looking discomfited. “I haven’t been watching you in bed. Only in public.”
“Oh. Well. As long as it’s only in public.” I give a dramatic flourish to my eye roll, suddenly no longer caring that I’ve been caught holding panties. I am not the ridiculous person in this situation,heis. I’m pretty sure whatever vestiges of a crush were left have been finally, firmly snuffed out.
Thad clenches his jaw, a muscle in his cheek flexing. He looks around the store, like he’s afraid someone might overhear him, then leans in closer to me. “I have a theory.”
I truly don’t know who Thad thinks might be listening in on this conversation—the sales girl texting furiously on the phone she thinks we can’t tell she’s hiding behind the counter, or the mom pushing a stroller with her sleeping baby while she examines a pair of crotchless panties. (Interesting.) Either way, he’s a little too close for comfort now, close enough that I can smell his soap and see the unexpected flecks of green in his eyes.
Okay, so maybe not entirely, one hundred percent over the crush.
“Oh, yeah?” I challenge, irritated at how breathy my voice sounds. “What’s that?”
“You may not know where Dean is, but you do know how to find out.”
I command my face not to betray anything, but I know my face. It is not a poker face, and I am no Lady Gaga. My expressions are as transparent as these panties.
Thad sees my hesitation and grins at me, triumphant and cocky, and something about it makes me feel squirmy in my bathing-suit areas. “There it is again. You know something.”
I do my best to channel my inner sister, the one who taught middle school English for a year at an inner-city Catholic high school. ThinkSister Act 2, but without the singing, or the fun, or Whoopi Goldberg. I’m not a natural disciplinarian, but one has a steep learning curve with prepubescents, and I can be tough. When forced to be. And no other alternatives present themselves. “Maybe. But even if, hypothetically, that’s true, why should I tell you? Frankly, you haven’t done anything to show me I should trust you.”
“You don’t have to trust me,” Thad returns easily, folding his arms in such a way that (distractingly) shows off the tight muscles in his forearms. “But you should trust this: Dean is in a lot of trouble. On the scale of people looking for him, I’m a hermit crab. But there are barracudas, stingrays, even great whites who are on the hunt, too, just waiting for a chance to get a bite out of him.”
That sounds…ominous. I frown at him, not wanting to relent too easily. “Killer whales are actually the apex predators of the sea. But I get your point. Who are these people and what do they want with Dean, anyway?”
“Not entirely sure. But rumor has it that Dean has majorly pissed off the Chicago mafia.”
For a moment, I can only stare at him. “Like, themafiamafia? Like Tony Soprano, Marlon Brando,I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refusemafia?” I shake my head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Dean’s an idiot but he’s only been arrested for petty crimes. Drunk and disorderly conduct, peeing in alleys, that kind of stuff. What does the mafia want with him?”
Thad scoff-laughs. “Someone’s been feeding you a spoonful of bullshit if you think that’s true. Dean’s been dabbling in the big stuff for a while now.” He slides open his phone, switching through a few screens before handing it to me. “Here. Take a look for yourself.”
I stare in surprise at the different charges on Dean’s record: racketeering, sports gambling, extortion, loan sharking. Most recently he was arrested for health-care fraud.
And every single time, someone bailed him out. The only person who would do that is Pam Flanagan, which means that Mom has to know about all the different charges on Dean’s criminal record. Knowing my mother, she refuses to believe most of them, but she at least knows of their existence.
